


Soulguard

by wanderingsmith



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:52:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7141346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Thorin, please!!  Remember your grandfather's end!  Remember what you asked of me on the Carrock!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soulguard

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> * conceived and mostly-written before even hte second movie. so it **goes AU after the first movie.**
> 
> * another that was 90% written 2 years ago.. and just now got the words to wrap it

Bilbo stared into the dying flames of their campfire, his mind populating into their flickering depth vaulted ceilings of stone, glittering with seemingly source-less light. Deep dwarven voices a wordless growl in his very bones. Balin's clear tones over them, speaking of a mighty kingdom. Loving details of carved beauty, of metal and stone melded to rival any grand design of nature. Deepest loyalty in his voice as it named its kings.

A fair but grey day slowly climbing down the spit of rock Gandalf had named the Carock had left his companions melancholy as they rested, until in the quiet fire-lit night, shrouded in pipe smoke from the circle of their Company, Balin had quietly started speaking of Erebor. Reminiscence of his home and the life he and his family had lived. It was a different perspective for Bilbo, stories that held neither call to arms nor grim sadness, but instead a smoother world, populated with smaller things. The things that make up real lives, just as his books, chair and pantry did. It woke an odd little voice in his mind, wanting to see it. Even seeing himself in it. Not standing before it in awe, but instead walking its halls and corridors; standing on a parapet with Th-

Bilbo straightened, frowning and lecturing himself away from such foolish visions. It was all well and good to have a fuller, more true perspective on his travelling companions; he should not let the Took in him embroider such truth with whimsy.

Though it was hard to dismiss the image entirely when he'd so recently seen just that expression of quiet joy on his companion. If he truly could help them reclaim their Erebor.. might he not have some right to standing upon its ramparts at his companions' side as they all surveyed the rewards of their facing through the odds of their adventure.

The treasury had sounded quite strange to him though. Mountains of coins? Why would anyone even wish for such a thing? Perhaps Balin even agreed, perhaps that was that odd note of confusion Bilbo was certain he'd heard in his voice as he spoke of the old king sometimes disappearing in the great room.

When Balin's words seemed to run out, Ori spoke, quiet and faintly wondering, "I cannot imagine what a *pile* of coins must look like."

"You'll have one yourself, soon." Bilbo was a little surprised that Kíli was able to speak in such a thoughtful tone; the evening truly *had* made them all quiet, "I expect you'll have better use for it than to make a shiny pile."

Ori's brief grin as he fingered his scarf made him look suddenly terribly young to Bilbo's eyes, "Buy the softest wool from Rohan to make a courting gift."

Amid the knowing chuckles, Bofur turned to Bilbo with curiosity on his friendly face, "What will *you* do with your share of the treasure, Bilbo?"

Bilbo's eyes widened at the question, not having expected to be drawn into their talk, "Uuuh, oh. ..I've no use for treasure. Gold doesn't make my tomatoes any more beautiful or tastier." At the soft snorts, he tried a grin of his own, "I suppose I could use them to tile the bathroom wall to make it nice and bright," his grin widened as the snorts changed to choked laughs, "Easy to clean, too, I bet."

Eventually, the laughter and pipes died down, and when a yawn threatened to make the bone of his jaw crack, Bilbo waved a good night to the few dwarrows still by the fire and stepped back toward his bedroll; never noticing the King sitting in shadows behind the bright fire. And watching him thoughtfully.

\-------------------------

"I .. fear it. Fear I will become the fallen man I watched my powerful grandfather become. And yet. The Arkenstone is the only way to reunite the clans, to rebuild Erebor to the greatness my grandfathers' brought it."

"And so I would ask a favour of you. My grandfather fell to the gold sickness before we understood, and my father... I am not certain the others would notice it. We dwarrows do love precious things; the beauty in it, it speaks to us, to our blood and souls. And even if they began to suspect.. I fear even Dwalin would hesitate too long to scold the dwarf king for love of gold or jewels. But you. Gold and riches would not distract you. And you see me. You have never feared to tell me what you thought."

"What would you have me do?"

"I.. do not know. Stop me from allowing death and disaster. You have surprised me beyond measure my hobbit, I would not put a limit on your ingenuity. Rather I ask.. I hope.. that you would consent to guard me from madness if you can."

"But at the least, I plead that you do all you can.. to stop me from hurting those I would protect."

\---------------------------

Thorin glared into the doorway, Orcrist clenched in his white-knuckled grip, knowing he could do nothing. To follow their quiet and clever burglar with his heavy steps would be to expose him to even greater danger. He, they, had all given the hobbit all the information about the layout of Erebor that he could absorb, all the knowledge of dragons that dwarf-lore offered. There was no other help they could give, save silence to avoid making his work more difficult, and listening for any possible signal that their skills could actually be used.

He glared. And tried to distract himself from the fear. Went over the plans he'd polished over the century since he'd been forced from this place. Which rooms to secure first. Which messages to send. What treasures to locate and set aside. For a moment he blinked; that thought had been different from the others... But.. of course he must have always planned to secure the heirlooms of the line of Durin. The throne room could only be considered secure with the Arkenstone. Erebor itself only existed with the gold and emeralds that made it the greatest Dwarf stronghold remaining. He was King, he would defend Erebor.

\----------------------------  
_now for wrath_  
now for ruin  
and a red dawn

 

There was a silent shriek of terror threaded through his thoughts, but the red haze of fury dulled everything else. Thief! How DARE he take from the King Under The Mountain! The Arkenstone was rightfully HIS! -He could see the overwhelming bright of the jewel lighting his mind.- And no mere Men or traitorous, thieving *Elves* would touch an ounce of the gold of his mountain!

"Thorin, please! Remember your grandfather's end! Remember what you asked of me on the Carrock!"

Thorin could hardly understand the voice through the haze, shouting to silence it, "What do you blather-" But there was a shake in his chest. Why? Why could he not breathe? The red haze faded for a moment, -sound of wind in nearby valleys, a wondering voice, "..so wrong"-.

"Think, damn your dwarven stubbornness! What do YOU treasure most?"

The cold light in his thoughts dimmed, replaced with pain-fogged memory of a flash of blue glow streaking by, of his own mental scream in response, 'No! You should be safe!'.

"Please, my king, you need to THINK! What do you love!!"

Love?? Who would ever dare question his love?? -Impossibly wide smile tilted at him as he grasped a small shoulder, "I think the worst is over."-.

"... YOU! You are..." The terror-shriek that had so made the red haze fight to control his mind suddenly ripped his eyes clear. And nearly ripped his soul with it.

Thorin knew he'd lost every inch of stoicity his father had taught him, knew his features reflected every ounce of shock and horror he felt as he finally saw *his* hands holding- "-Ghivashel... noooo.." He knew that choked howl had to be him.

He dropped his grip on -Oh Mahal have mercy, BILBO!- the small shoulders, then desperately fumbled to grab the smaller creature as Bilbo -nooooo!- stumbled from the sudden release.

Thorin's eyes were feverishly glued to the still-visible hand-prints in the worn surcoat; when he tried to swallow, the faint whimper that he'd been hearing warbled, and then the world tilted, the dull crash of metal on stone loud in the silence. But nothing made those prints change.

 

Panting and still finding his balance through his racing heart, Bilbo automatically followed as Thorin crawled backwards away from him; terribly glad of the returned awareness in the dwarf's eyes. 

Mildly jubilant at succeeding in pulling his friend back from madness, he started to relax, "Oh thank the Valar you're b-" and then his memory of the last few minutes settled, Thorin's words repeating in his ears, and his eyes widened.

Oh. Oh Eru, he... Bilbo felt himself start to smile, heart leaping for a far better reason than fear.

But as he stepped forward, the bright wonder at the forefront of his thoughts winked out as he saw Thorin shift further back away from him, rictus of horror firmly in place and staring fixedly at Bilbo's shoulders.

Bilbo snarled, wondering when he'd gotten so skilled at spinning through emotions without a pause, rushing the distance between them and throwing himself at Thorin's chest, latching onto his braids, "No! LOOK at me. Damn you, you stubborn dwarf." Growling to himself at the terror in the eyes that at least met his now, he pushed and pulled himself up enough to knock their foreheads as roughly as he dared, not wanting to knock himself out on thick dwarven bone.

The hesitant push again his knock was accompanied by a low whimper and he continued to leap by his instinct, infusing all the soft feelings that had grown in his heart for this so very flawed dwarf into his voice, betting what the word had meant by how his king had used it, "Ghivashel." He didn't doubt his high voice mangled the growly dwarven pronunciation, but the sudden stillness in Thorin's body told him he was understood and the word was strong enough to make it through Thorin's horror.

Taking a calming breath, he raised his head, releasing his grip on dark hair only enough to rotate his hands, watching thoughtfully as a thin, shinny braid wrapped around each of his wrists, faintly ashamed at how possessive he was feeling. Then he shifted his body to kneel properly over the dwarf's lap, cupping his hands around a stubborn bearded chin, feeling resistance build under him again as he raised his love's face to meet his square on. Frowning at the shamed, broken, lost look, he shifted his body closer around the warrior's shakily reclining form, wrapping knees around him and bringing his chest as close as possible while still keeping their gazes locked, sticking like a burr and refusing to be budged. "You are going nowhere; you are going to be *fine*. You are *mine* and I am NOT letting you go, Thorin Oakenshield!"

Though there had been some blink of recognition as he spoke, broken shame still stared back at the hobbit, a minefield of despair built on too many years of pain to measure. There was something very wrong with the world when a Baggins wished the problem he faced was a Gundabad warg. Bilbo bit back curses at the invisible enemy hurting his mate, trying and failing to soften his voice away from a growl, "Did I not save you from the woodland realm? Did I not keep you alive long enough for your kinsmen to save you from Azog? So long as I live, I will not let you fall to thrice-cursed gold-sickness. You asked me to guard you and I *have*. Have the grace your mother taught you and thank me!"

 

'Mine'. The words rang in Thorin's mind, stroking softness into the knot clenching his chest. A mangled 'Ghivashel' that he likely would have not understood if not for the touch and the tone and the eyes that went with it. Bilbo. High hobbit voice almost dwarven with growl: 'Mine'.

The tug on one of his braids made him focus on the fierce eyes staring at him. He tried to take a breath, half surprised when he could, took another and shuddered, -flash of Bilbo held higher than the parapet-. 

Wrenched himself away from the memory at another tug on the same braid. Obeying the silent demand, he shakily shifted to bring an arm up around the too fragile-seeming body nonetheless gripping him securely. Responding to the approving smile replacing the glare directed at him, Thorin sat up and couldn't stop the sudden need for comfort, however undeserving he was, burying his face in the side of Bilbo's neck, his now free other hand furrowing into the curls at the back of the hobbit's head, and he held on, trying to remind himself to be gentle for Mahal's sake, but shaken by waves of reaction and needing nothing less than every inch of his One to keep from flying apart.

\-------------------

Carefully petting any part of Thorin he could reach without interfering with the king's deathgrip, Bilbo felt himself calm, now that he wasn't fighting a dwarf for either of their lives. Enough so that he heard the sigh of relief from besides them quite clearly. Oh dear. Sliding a careful hand into Thorin's hair to wrap around his skull and keep him tucked in the hobbit's throat, Bilbo took a deep breath and looked.

Unsurprisingly, a dozen set of eyes stared at the two of them. Ranging from very worried to angry, though Bilbo couldn't be bothered to guess who the anger was aimed at, to amused; and everything in between. Well. He gave the lot of them a disparaging glare, knowing he was wasting the effort but too protective of his friend not to try to acquire them some privacy. With exactly the result he expected.

He grumbled, turning his head back to rub a cheek on wild hair and whispering, "Thorin. I'm sorry, my king. I did not intend to-" -he looked at the others briefly in exasperation- "I.. expected.. hoped you would say your people, or Kíli and Fíli. Or Erebor.."

He felt Thorin hunch into himself, could almost feel added shame rising in him and knocked his head very lightly sideways against the dwarf, "Now stop that too my king. A year ago I had accepted with quiet regret that I would spend my life alone; never knowing what the great love I read of in tales felt like. Then I opened my door late on an already mad evening and discovered I was wrong." 

He gently pulled back, the hand at the back of Thorin's head encouraging him to lift his eyes to Bilbo's, "I discovered I would instead spend my life dreaming of a love I could never win."

\-------------------

Bard didn't know what he'd expected to find when the bald, tattoo-covered dwarf guided them to the battlements after that sudden silent period. But it wasn't to be greeted by the hobbit that had been last seen dangled over the parapets.. by the very dwarf now standing silent behind Bilbo Baggins, seemingly holding himself up by his grip on the halfling's shoulders, face stripped haggard and eyes staring at nothing. 

"Gentlemen." Bard focused on the halfling as he spoke up, sounding tired but firm, the stare aimed at him and the elf not particularly friendly. Though at least it was perfectly sane and reasonable. "This meeting is only to agree on the basis for future more detailed negotiations. As previously agreed, we will share a reasonable amount of treasure with you, Bard. Thranduil, whatever your grievances with king Thrór, you repaid the discourtesy when you not only refused aid to travellers that offered you no harm, but actually held them prisoner. You may all think hobbits are un-violent, quiet folk, but we do not take such injustice kindly. I know you wish jewels that are supposedly in this mountain. If you will sign treaties of peace and mutual aid, we will entertain discussions of exchange. Bring but one mention of the past and the offer is void!"

 

Thorin stood with his hands tight on Bilbo's shoulders, staring forward, not a word registering of the negotiations happening before him. His mind instead wandering, trying to remember when he had lost himself. He stiffened with pain and fear as he remembers holding Bilbo up. Though the sound of his voice never varied, Bilbo must have felt his Thorin's reaction and he stepped back, and Thorin's arm instinctively dropped like a vise around his waist. Slowly, the word ghivashel echoed in his mind and he found he could release some of the terror. 

Thinks of a crude blade above him, his body helpless as fury burned in him. And then such a small body flying out of the darkness to save his life; -his arm around Bilbo tightened unconsciously- the terror that had instantly replaced his fury had given him enough adrenaline to start to move, desperate to save that innocent life from the fate it had put itself in, but he hadn't even had time to feel the pain that had knocked him unconscious again.

"Do you agree to these terms, King under the mountain?"

He distantly felt dusty curls tickle his nose and cheeks, hardly aware of his position as he tried to recapture the few flashes of memory he had of that night before Gandalf woke him on the Carrock.

"Do you AGREE to these terms, King under the mountain?"

Though he'd ignored the arrogant voice that grated on his too-raw nerves, Thorin now felt the small tug at one of his braids, knowing without doubt that any he'd let touch him in such a way must be obeyed. He made himself look up at the tree-shagger, confident his expression would now be as stoic as he'd ever been taught.

Not showing the least of the satisfaction he felt at seeing annoyance flow through that cold-face at having to repeat itself. "Do. you. agree. to these terms, *King* under the mountain?"

He would have waited a deliberate pause before replying, but the tug on his braid was firm now, and the memories of his madness too fresh for him to allow himself to tease his hobbit, so he growled his reply quietly, sparing a glance at Bard for it to apply to him as well. "The dwarrows of Erebor will stand behind Bilbo Baggins' treaties for so long as I draw breath."

\-------------------

Some bloody and exhausting weeks later, in a once luxurious chamber that showed the marks of hurried cleaning in the shifting light of the large blaze trying to fight the winter chill in the stone floor, a dwarf knelt, in casual dress that did not quite hide the bandages he wore, and few ornaments shinning in his loose hair.

That he was able to kneel, and that those dark tresses shone with returning health were all that mattered to the now similarly dressed hobbit standing before him and looking at the bright silver in a wide, callus and scar-filled palm.

"I cannot promise you..." The voice was as low and worried as the eyes watching him.

Bilbo stared back firmly, "You can promise to love me."

That smile was very slowly becoming familiar. "Yes. I can promise to love you until Mahal remakes the world, and forever after."

"And I promise to love you. And to protect you from the gold-madness. By whatever means necessary." He was tempted to stick out his hand to seal the deal, but caught himself and settled for the businesslike stare that has gotten him the best casks of Old Toby, each year.

Thorin's breath drew in with a slight frown, but it finally changed to a self-mocking smile, "Are you trying to tell me something, my Master of Negotiations?"

"Only what I have already said, My King. Hobbits are stubborn," he picked up one of the mythril engagement rings being held out and slid it onto Thorin's offered finger firmly, "That which shall not be named will not win you to wreck its havoc."


End file.
